


The Pills I Take For You

by traumschwinge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sherlock Experiments on John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock talks John into taking one little pill for him so he can study its effects on the human body. What he doesn't tell John: That pill is a potent aphrodisiac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pills I Take For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YamiPanther](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiPanther/gifts).



> Originally written in YamiPanther's ask box and at some point transmuted into a full grown fic. May or may not contain tears.

"What," John asks, looking at the pill in his hand. "Is this?"

"It's a pill, John, can't you tell," Sherlock answers, not looking up from the book he is reading.

"What does it do?" John asks full of mistrust.

"I'm not sure."

"And you want me to take it because...?"

"Because I want to know what it does," Sherlock says as if the was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Right," John sights. "And what is it supposed to do?"

"Not much. Relax you, actually."

"So, it's a drug. Illegal?"

"Not at all."

"Is this your way of telling me I'm too tense?" John sighs. He's more and more convinced that taking this pill in his hand would be the biggest mistake in his whole life.

"No, this is me telling you I want you to take this pill so I can study the effects because you always yell at me when I just mix something into your food," Sherlock gives back and rolls his eyes.

"Of course I yell at you for mixing drugs into my food," John snaps. "Normal people don't do that. And I really hate to see big hairy spiders crawling about everywhere after dinner, just because someone was messing with my food again."

"That was only once," Sherlock deadpans. "And you don't have to bring it up over and over again."

"It happened last week!" John huffs. "And I mentioned it twice."

"Well, I didn't force you to eat the dinner I prepared."

"So it's my fault, now?"

"Well, I learned from it didn't I?"

"Asking me to take drugs is not learning."

"John, would you please take the pill that will make you all nice and relaxed and that I would love to study, just if you feel up to it, please?" Sherlock said. "There, is that good enough now?"

John sighed. "Well, it was better at least."

"So, will you take it now?"

"No!"

"Why not? I did ask you nicely."

"I don't feel up to taking it," John says through his teeth.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Come on now. Just take it."

"Promise me you will stop bothering me with things like that if I do?" John asks.

"Are you proposing a bargain?"

"Yes."

"Fine, take it and I'll stop for a week."

"Two months!"

"One?"

"Deal."

"Deal."

John gulps and looks down at his palm again. He clears his throat which has suddenly gone very dry. "Can I at least have some water to help it go down?" he asks. Sherlock simply points towards their kitchen. John glares at him. "Fine, I'll get it myself." He puts the pill down on the table next to Sherlock's book and leaves for the kitchen to help himself to a glass of water.

He returns with it and retakes his position at Sherlock's desk to reclaim the pill. He still feels like this is a mistake, but a whole month without being Sherlock's guinea pig for all sorts of experiments has its appeal. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. Then he puts the pill on his tongue, before he takes a big gulp of water and swallows all of it. Then, because it wouldn't do any harm, he also downs the rest of the water in the hope that that would make the taste of the pill go away.

At first, John can't feel any difference from before. This comes as a relief. He had half been expecting that the pill would make his limps all go limp and that he would find himself lying utterly helpless on the floor. No such thing happens.

Still, John settles into one of their armchairs. Just in case, he tells himself. He can feel his legs tremble a bit but he isn't sure it's the pill's fault. He rather blames his own nerves. "Care to tell me now what this drug's supposed to do?"

“No,” Sherlock says firmly, leaning back in his chair and studying John closely. “Not before we're done. I don't want to interfere with this experiment. Expectation and effect are linked very closely when it comes to medicine, you know? So, John, how do you feel?”

John shrugs. “Nothing different from before,” he says after thinking about it for a while. “You're sure you haven't given me a placebo?”

Sherlock glances at his face, before his eyes seem to roam all over John's body, apparently in search of any sign of change. When he doesn't see what he has hoped for or at least expected, he wrinkles his forehead. “This is odd,” he murmurs. “That's not what it's supposed to do.” He reaches out for John. Unthinkingly, John lets Sherlock touch his arm. He expects a comforting stroke or something like that. He should have know better.

He gets pinched. “Ouch, Sherlock, what the hell,” John hisses, lazily slapping at Sherlock's hand but missing it. That's odd, he thinks. Was the pill some sort of drug after all. He doesn't feel any different yet but something's definitely wrong.

“You don't look too good,” Sherlock remarks after another long study of John's body and an even longer one of his face. “How about you lie down a bit? In your bed?”

Something about this bugs John, but he can't put his finger on it and thinking in general gets decreasingly harder all the time now. “Fine, whatever,” he murmurs as he tries and fails to stand up. He manages to get to his feet eventually, with Sherlock's help. He feels too dizzy now to protest when Sherlock wraps his arm around John's waist and leads him into Sherlock's bedroom. John suspects that this is just because it's closer than his own.

With a relieved grunt, John collapses onto the bed. It's welcome and soft and comfortable and he would do nothing rather than closing his eyes and sleep the effects of that pill off. But he can feel Sherlock's fingers on his arm and back and they're very distracting as he tries to fall asleep. “Lemme sleep,” John mumbles. “Your stupid touches are keeping me from it.”

As soon as Sherlock's finger stop, John wishes they hadn't. He even lets out a small sight. “Shouldn't we at least take off your clothes, John?” Sherlock asks in a flat voice that doesn't betray any emotion. At any other time, John would have thought that lack of curiosity alarming but not tonight.

John attempts to nod but then opts to only make a little sound of affirmation. He's not in the mood to do much more now. He just wants to lie here, possibly for all eternity and if Sherlock would put his fingers back onto him, that would really be nice as well.

He's glad when they return to move him onto his back and to undress him, carefully peeling off his clothes, first his shirt, then his jeans, before Sherlock returns to his upper body and helps him out of his wife beater as well. Lying there only dressed in his boxers and socks now, with Sherlock hovering over him, John starts feeling a little bit odd. He feels less and less tried. Instead, he would love Sherlock to continue.

He watches Sherlock undress himself. He even thinks that is—through not as good as simply continuing—a very wise thing to do of him. John watches Sherlock's ridiculously long fingers unbutton his shirt and then slipping it off, revealing a lot of pale skin in the process. John wonders for a second if Sherlock maybe was a vampire but fails to elaborate this thought as his attention focuses on Sherlock's fingers again, which are now busy undoing the button and zipper of his slacks.

“Sherlock,” John whines before he can even stop himself.

Sherlock bends down and kisses John's slightly stubbly cheek. “Shush,” Sherlock whispers into John's ear. “It'll be better soon, I promise.” The voice in his ear and the feeling of Sherlock's breath against his skin sends shivers down his spine. John whimpers, louder than the whine before. “I'll make it feel better, John.”

All John can do is nod and not wrap his arms around Sherlock and press himself against his friend's body as close as possible. Instead he clutches fistfuls of the sheet and just holds on, awaiting whatever Sherlock plans to do to make him feel better again. He feels so warm and hazy now.

“Just hurry,” John manages to get out. Sherlock's fingers are back on his skin, his hands roaming over his bare chest and belly. John can't help but to buck up a little. “Hurry,” he repeats. John doesn't like the distant look on Sherlock's face. “And I swear to god if you tell me how utterly fascinating you think this is, I will punch you.”

Sherlock lets out a soft chuckle but pulls down John's briefs anyway. “Patience, John,” he whispers as he leans over to his nightstand to retrieve the bottle of lube he stored there. “We don't want to get you hurt do we?” John shakes his head helplessly. He doesn't care if only Sherlock gets on with what he's doing.

“Spread your legs, John,” Sherlock whispers as he positions himself down there, nudging John's legs apart so he can settle himself more comfortable. John obliges and opens his legs as far as he can without using his hands. Everything to make Sherlock get on with it faster.

Sherlock on the other hand takes all the time he needs. He uncaps the bottle of lube—much slower than John would have—and presses a good amount of it onto his hand—which also takes more time than John would have liked—before he slicks his fingers up with it. John shifts uneasily to make Sherlock hurry up but in vain. Still, Sherlock presses the tip of one of his fingers against John's hole—finally, finally, is all John can think at this point.

“You tell me when this is hurting you, John,” Sherlock orders. All John can do is moan and move his hips in order to encourage Sherlock to get his damn finger up his arse right this instant.

Sherlock complies, maddeningly slow. John can feel the gentle pressure as a slick finger eases its way up his arse. When it eventually starts to move and—worse—bends, John lets out a long moan. He's already too far gone to care and much too far to hold back and stop his hips from moving, which is why he presses against Sherlock's finger, taking him in deeper and deeper, inch by inch.

When Sherlock finally decides to add another finger, John sighs with relief. He tells himself that this couldn't be taking much longer, that Sherlock soon must be satisfied enough by how he was stretched around his fingers, that he would remove them and finally start to fuck him.

Apparently, Sherlock is content with taking his time. After he pulls his two fingers out, he promptly replaces them with three. John has to admit that Sherlock at least puts them to good use. The way he pushes and pulls and twists and hits exactly the right spot oven and over again makes John scream and cry and curse in lust. John is almost convinced he could come from this alone if Sherlock wouldn't stop it soon.

He's still sad to feel Sherlock's finger go when they do. For an awful long moment, he feels empty and almost alone, which is ridiculous given that Sherlock's sitting right between his legs and... John gawps at Sherlock. The view of him, between his legs, lubing his condom-wrapped dick up sends John's head spinning.

“Sher...” John whimpers breathlessly. “Hurry.” He shifts uneasily around, looking up pleadingly at Sherlock. There is a glint sparking in Sherlock's eyes John can only call lust and longing. It makes him pull up one of his legs to his chest, holding it in place to grant Sherlock easier access.

This is enough invitation for Sherlock. After what had felt like an eternity to John, he takes his cock and positions it against John's hole. A few deep breaths follow, before he slowly inches inside, spreading John wider than his fingers ever could. John holds perfectly still, waits for Sherlock to bury himself completely inside.

Sherlock seems to want to give him a moment to get used to the feeling, but John doesn't need it. Impatiently, he starts to move his hips, not long after Sherlock had stopped moving. That's all the invitation Sherlock needs this time. Almost immediately, he starts slowly pulling out again, before he slams back into John, repeating this over and over again.

John clutches aimlessly around for anything to hold onto, pulling at the sheets and eventually gets hold of Sherlock and starts to dig his nails into his shoulders to make him move faster, more merciless. Sherlock is hitting just the right spot every time, making John moan and cry all over again. The mattress beneath him is creaking, but John doesn't mind, even enjoys it as if this was just another prove that all this was really happening, is happening, as if Sherlock in his arm and inside him wouldn't be enough even though it's almost too much for him to comprehend.

Sherlock looks up, his eyes searching for John's. They exchange a hazy glance. Then, Sherlock angles his head slightly so that their lips meet in a breathless, messy kiss. John's hips jerk upwards as their tongues meet, the sensation sending a jolt of joy through his whole body. Much too soon, he has to break the kiss in favor of gasping for breath, his head spinning with the lack of oxygen and maybe more.

At the jerk, Sherlock's steady thrusts stutter. He starts to slam frantically into John, making him squirm with lust at the deep and hard pounding into him. Then, for a moment, he goes utterly still before John can feel him orgasm inside him.

It takes Sherlock a few seconds to recover, but as soon as he's capable of doing so, he slides out of John and rolls beside him, before he wraps his long, slender finger around John's own erection and gently starts to stroke. It doesn't take much for John at this state. For a second, he wonders if he could come from Sherlock fucking him alone, before he can't think anything anymore, before his vision goes white with the sensation of a mind-blowing orgasm.

They lie in bed panting for a while, unable to speak, John for one even unable to move as much as a finger. All he does is staring at the ceiling above Sherlock's bed and listening to the beat of his own heart inside his ears and the sound of Sherlock struggling for breath next to him.

“You could have asked me, you know?” John says after he has regained enough breath for it and swallowed dry for a few times. The effects of the drug had worn off quite a while ago, when they still had been at it, but John had been too far gone to care at that point.

“How?” Sherlock pants back at him. “You always tell people we're not a couple, so I deducted that you were appalled by the idea.”

“Why the hell would you think that?” John grumbles, rolling onto his side to be able to take a better look at Sherlock. “Wait, of course. Well, but I never said that, did I? I just told them the truth. We weren't dating then, were we?”

Sherlock wrinkles his forehead. “Does that mean what I assume it means?”

John rolls his eyes. “For a genius, you're sometimes pretty dense,” he states, before he pulls Sherlock in a kiss. “I wouldn't want to sleep with someone who doesn't want me to date them. And I wouldn't take unknown pills just for anybody.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bro, don't think I'll do this more often now just because I found a way to picture it! Also, bribing me is almost cheating.


End file.
